


The Things We Do For Love

by SlightlyOff7



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 14:23:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12389883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlightlyOff7/pseuds/SlightlyOff7
Summary: After being informed of his true heritage, Jon Snow finds himself in a terrible predicament. In addition to his utter confusion and miserable mix of emotions, his situation seems to be a unique one. Well, perhaps not entirely unique. There is one person who could possibly empathize with what Jon is going through. In fact, as cruel fate would have it, he's just arrived at Winterfell.And deep beneath in the crypts, Ned Stark is rolling in his grave.





	The Things We Do For Love

**Author's Note:**

> So despite the humorous summary, I hope to write this short story in a serious and convincing way. I have no idea if this is the way any of this will play out in the show, and I'm open to numerous interpretations, but I thought that it would be an extremely interesting conversation to be had. And since we'll be waiting at least a year until we find out how Jon and Dany react to this, I wanted to present my vision of how this situation could potentially be resolved. I hope you enjoy!

For as long as he could remember, Jon Snow had wondered who his mother was. When he was little, he imagined her as all manner of exotic strangers. Even once Jon grew older and he realized she was likely just some tavern girl his father used to console himself in his solitude, the need to know who brought him into the world, to learn just something about the woman whose blood he shared, had stayed with him every night and day. But never in all of his wildest dreams did he imagine the truth could bring him so much pain.

Poor Sam, bless his heart, had tried to be as gentle with it as he could. Jon wondered if he could tell what Daenerys meant to him, or had at least guessed. Maybe he saw the way Jon stood by her side when they entered the Great Hall of Winterfell. Or maybe he heard the adoration in Jon’s voice as he explained to the lords of the North and the Vale why he had bent the knee to a Targaryen. In the end, it hadn’t mattered. Bran had no need for any measure of tact anymore. Hells, he’s hardly even Bran at this point. I hardly recognized him. When he recalled the scene, Jon wasn’t sure what part had unnerved him more. The words, or the flat, unfeeling way they were said.

_“Your last name’s not Snow, actually.”_

Jon shivered. He looked about his room, quickly finding and reaching for the horn of ale on the side table. Even the room where he’d spent his entire childhood felt foreign to him now. Every memory he had, every time his father- _“he’s not your father, he never was”_ \- had sat in that chair and taught him about being a man; It all felt different. He remembered one night, when he was ten, where Catelyn had yelled at him for fighting with Robb. She’d called him a bastard- _“he claimed you were his to protect you”_ \- and he’d fled to this very room. Robb had come in later, black eye swollen shut- _“he took it to his grave”_ \- and told him that no matter what she said, he was his brother, and he always would be. That night used to give him comfort. _Now it’s poisoned, like every other memory I have_. Jon drained the horn. He was just reaching for the flagon to refill it when there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Jon rasped, throat tight.

Arya stood in the archway, her ever-present blades glinting softly in the torchlight. “You should come to the Hall.” Her sharp grey eyes flickered to the ale and Jon’s white-knuckled grip on it, and if she thought anything of it, she didn’t let it show.

“What’s happened?”

Arya’s impassive expression turned sour. “Jaime Lannister’s here.”

* * *

As much as he wanted to, Jon couldn’t keep himself from looking at her. He regretted it instantly. Daenerys was dressed in a simple grey and white coat, cut sharply at the shoulders the way she liked it. As much as it shamed him to think it, seeing her in his family colors- _”you’re not a Stark, Jon”_ \- still did things to him he didn’t want to dwell on. Her gaze was fixed firmly on the doors at the end of the hall, but when she felt Jon’s eyes on her, she turned her head. Their eyes, Stark grey and Targaryen lilac, stayed locked for but an instant, yet it was enough to make Jon’s chest tighten with pain, even as his stomach did a flip that made him grip the table hard enough for his fingernails to leave crescents in the wood.

For her part, Dany turned quickly towards the door again, but not before she swallowed and shifted uncomfortably in her chair. It didn’t help that the only person between them was Sansa. Jon had wanted to sit as far from her as possible, but for appearances sake, it really wouldn’t be good for either of them if people saw the Warden of the North relegated to the end of the table. They had been able to justify the Lady of Winterfell sitting at the Queen’s left, and her Hand sat on her right, as befit his station. Tyrion Lannister normally kept his emotions well in check, but he was finding it difficult to disguise the glimmer of hope in his eyes. Once she had composed herself, Daenerys’s voice rang out loud and clear.

“Bring him in.”

The guards on either side of the doors pulled them aside, and as the cold air rushed into the Hall, in walked the Kingslayer.

Jon had been somewhat taken aback when he had first laid eyes on Jaime Lannister at the Dragonpit. The white knight he had met briefly at Winterfell was straight out of a maiden’s song. Gentle blonde locks, a clean and handsome face, bright green eyes, and an arrogant grin that was as fetching as it was mocking. The person Jon saw at King’s Landing was a changed man. The most obvious alteration was of course the golden hand, but the differences went far deeper. His hair was now close cropped, and it had lost much of its luster. Stubble was evident across his chin and cheeks, and his eyes now had a haunted and distant quality to them. And the easy smile was gone, replaced with a grimly set jaw and a hard line of a mouth. The man, for lack of a better term, had seen winter.

Lannister stopped a few feet from the stairs, glancing at his brother before focusing again on Daenerys. To everyone’s surprise, he executed a perfunctory bow before addressing her. “Hello again, Your Grace.” He allowed his gaze to quickly wander around the rest of the Hall, the corners of his mouth curling upwards into a wry smile. “I must say, I never thought I’d be glad to return to Winterfell.”

“Why are you here, Ser Jaime?” Daenerys wasted no time in cutting to the point. “Are you not in command of your sister’s armies? We were not expecting their arrival for another week, though we’ll have no complaint if you’ve somehow mustered them all in a fortnight.” Her tone made it evident she did not believe that to be the case.

At this, whatever forced mirth was in the man’s face dried up, and his expression turned somber. “I apologize for being the bearer of such news, Your Grace.” He lowered his gaze briefly, and his shoulders slumped. Does he look…ashamed? “I don’t think you have reason to expect the Lannister armies at all anymore.”

At this, the room went deathly quiet. When Jon hazarded a look at his queen, her fists had clenched on the table, and there was fire in her eyes.

“Am I to take this as meaning you have decided to renege on our accord to fight together?” The threat in those words couldn’t have been clearer.

“When you and your men left King’s Landing, I was under the impression that all would proceed as we had discussed.” Jaime’s expression grew bitter. “My sister informed me later that was not to be. She intends to keep her armies in the south, and take no part in the defense of Westeros.” Frantic mutterings began to abound in the crowd of lords in the hall, but Lannister pressed on. “Furthermore, she has sent Euron Greyjoy to fetch the Golden Company from Essos. They will aid her in reconquering the Seven Kingdoms once the Great War has been decided.”

When this news broke, lords began rising to their feet, and their voices rose with it, until a look from Daenerys restored the silence as quickly as it had been broken. Despite himself, Jon felt a flicker of pride. She’s earned their respect so quickly. When the last of the nobility had returned to their seat, Bronze Yohn Royce scowling impressively, Daenerys once again turned her attention to Jaime Lannister.

“That is…disappointing. But it still doesn’t answer the first question I asked you, Ser Jaime. Why are you here? I can’t imagine Cersei Lannister sending her own brother to deliver news of her treachery to me. What is it you want?”

The two brothers, Jaime and Tyrion, shared a look before he spoke. Jon could see Tyrion’s expression had gone to one of stony disappointment.

“I did not agree with my sister’s decision to abandon the defense of the North.” Jaime’s hand went, almost unconsciously, to his sword belt, fiddling with the straps. “So I resigned from my duties as commander of the crown’s army, and I rode north alone.” He sank to one knee as he spoke, and an audible murmur of shock went through the room. “I have come to pledge my allegiance to your cause, Queen Daenerys Targaryen. I have to come to fight against the army of the dead.” He looked up from his kneeling position, and Jon beheld the most honest expression of shock he’d ever seen on Daenarys. Jon could hardly believe his eyes either. There must be some trick in this. Jaime continued. “I offer you my counsel, if you’ll have it, and my sword, if you’ll not. Though,” he raised his metal hand as a note of sarcastic mirth appeared in his voice, “I’m not quite the fighter I once was, unfortunately. And, if we do manage to defeat the dead, and I live to see another summer…” he paused, taking a deep breath, “…I will aid you in your battles against my sister. I will tell you all I can of the makeup of her armies, the tactics she will employ, all the knowledge I have at my disposal. This I swear.” Jon saw Tyrion lean forward in his seat, hands pressed flat against the table, his whole demeanor one of unbridled shock. He opened and closed his mouth several times, but no words came out. It may have been the first time Jon had ever seen Tyrion Lannister speechless. Daenerys, as always, was the first to recover.

“And why should I believe any of this, my lord? Why should I believe that after everything you’ve done, to both of our families,” she gestured at Sansa and Jon beside her, “that you would suddenly renounce your sister and, even beyond that, pledge your loyalty to those who would seek to destroy her and her reign?” Her voice rose imperiously with each word, and in that moment, Jon thought she had never looked more like a queen.

_“Yes. That would make her your aunt.”_

_Gods damn you, Bran._

Jaime Lannister stood up, and when the room beheld his face, it was filled with solemn dread. “Because now I’ve seen what we’re facing, Your Grace.” His voice had lost any remainder of the airy, lilting tone he used to have, back when he was last in Winterfell and they were all still whole. “Because now I know what’s really at stake. It’s more important than every lord in every keep or holdfast in all of Westeros. It’s more important than whoever wants to sit on that fucking throne.” If he was correct, Jon could even see an inkling of sadness in the man’s eyes. “And because now I know that whatever love my sister once had for me, if it was any at all….It’s well and truly gone now.”

Jon had seen plenty of men who had nothing to live for. They were all too common at the Wall, both on it and beyond it. Many men said that you could tell because their eyes would look dead. They’d look empty and lost and alone. That wasn’t true, really. That was the look of a man who had lost everything. Men who had nothing to live for were a different beast entirely. Because if they had nothing, and they were still alive, it meant they’d decided that it was the responsibility of the world to end them, not their own. Their eyes were filled with a grim challenge, like they were daring the monsters and fiends to try and kill them. It was an acceptance of fate, but a refusal to do its dirty work. Jon never thought he would behold that look on Jaime Lannister.

“And if you require further proof, I’ve a gift for Lady Sansa.” At this, Jaime drew the sword hanging at his side from its scabbard, golden hand held up in a placating gesture as the guards standing a few feet behind him readied their spears. He advanced to the bottom of the dais, where he lay the weapon down in front of the table before retreating to his original spot. The sword itself was beautiful, the rubies and gold lions of the hilt glinting softly in the cold light. And there was no mistaking the sheen of the blade, the dark glimmer in the bands of the metal. Jon knew Valyrian steel when he saw it.

“When Lord Stark died, my father ordered his greatsword was to be kept, and eventually he had it melted down into two swords he hoped would become heirlooms of our House. But we soon realized we were rather lacking in Lannisters to wield them.” Jaime nodded to the side of the table, where Brienne of Tarth sat. “I gave one of them to Lady Brienne here, so that Ned Stark’s steel could be used to safeguard Ned Stark’s daughter. It’s only fitting I return its brother to his children as well.” Jaime’s gaze shifted now to Jon, and Jon felt the old anger return briefly as he pictured his- the man he’d thought had been his- father, dying betrayed and alone in King’s Landing while his enemies desecrated his memory. But the sting of hatred faded as quickly as it had come. Jon had seen so much death and misery since that day, the news of his father’s end seemed as though it was from a lifetime ago. _In a way_ , he thought morbidly, _it is_.

“Thank you for returning this to us, Ser Jaime.” Sansa’s voice roused Jon from his reverie.

“You are welcome, my lady.” Lannister turned expectantly to Daenarys. “So, Your Grace, what would you command of me?”

Daenarys leaned forward in her chair, still wrestling with all of the man’s revelations. Eventually, she spoke. “I will consider everything you have said, Ser Jaime. Until such time as I reach a decision, you will be given a room in the castle. You may not leave it, but I will ensure you are treated fairly.” At this, Daenarys looked to Sansa, who ordered one of the guards to show Jaime to a room in the guest quarters. She also nodded at Brienne, who silently rose from the table and followed them out. As the heavy oaken door slammed shut again, the room was bathed in a moment of eerie silence. In that pause, Tyrion pressed a hand to his temple, before breathily exhaling a word.

“Fuck.”


End file.
